


strange currencies

by IrisParry



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last night Theon had a skinful of ale and a mess of desire, so he needs it like this now, needs to feel he's in control of it all. It suits Robb, dozy and delicate as he is, and he runs his hands over Theon's shoulders, obliges him with soft groans of wordless encouragement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strange currencies

**Author's Note:**

> So little plot I didn't feel like I even had to decide whether it was a modern AU or not. Seriously.
> 
> Don't own characters, etc etc disclaimers an stuff IT'S FANFIC.

Robb's head swims when he tries to lift it. He gives up fairly easily, slumps back onto the pillow and squeezes his eyes closed. His mouth feels sticky and he runs his tongue across his lips, tasting stale ale, swallows and croaks, "How much did we have to drink last night?"

"Enough," Theon mutters. Robb can feel Theon's grin against the back of his neck, his lips and day's worth of stubble brushing down over the bumps of his spine. _Enough for what,_ Robb's about to ask, but he already has his answer in the sweet ache in his thighs, knew it before the pile of clothes and the empty bottles on the floor resolved themselves in front of his bleary eyes. He knew it when he felt the heat of another body behind him as he came around, the weight of an arm across him. He knew it when he relaxed there in the embrace, instinctive and half-asleep, relaxed because it was familiar, because it was _good_ , because it was Theon.

 _Enough._ That's the excuse in the night; he doesn't have one for the morning, except that maybe it doesn't seem quite real then either, when it's just starting to get light and his head is heavy and fuzzy and it's so easy to ... just go with it.

Robb rolls onto his back, sighing at the effort. Theon's hand slides across his belly and he pushes a leg over Robb's, leans into him, already hard against his hip. Theon's always cocky again in the mornings, moves over Robb insistent and confident, smiling that Greyjoy smile. Last night Theon had a skinful of ale and a mess of desire, so he needs it like this now, needs to feel he's in control of it all. It suits Robb, dozy and delicate as he is, and he runs his hands over Theon's shoulders, obliges him with soft groans of wordless encouragement. Theon's trailing his mouth down Robb's chest, hot and slow, following his roaming fingers, the pleasure a lazy glow spreading under Robb's skin. He closes his eyes against the pale morning sunlight, wallows in the darkness where there's only Theon's lips and hands.

Theon jolts him with a teasing bite, and when Robb gasps Theon snorts, grinds his cock against him a little harder. He nips at him again, laughs, "You do like that, don't you?" It's not a question, because Robb does, gods, he does ... but what sends the sharp rush of desire through him is Theon's voice, low and amused now, shaky and desperate last night - _like that, like that, oh fuck, fuck, Robb, please -_

Robb's back arches and his hands drop to scrabble at the sheets, as if some part of him fears falling, but Theon holds his hips and presses him down into the mattress. "Well," he says smugly, shuffles down the bed to sink his teeth lightly into Robb's thigh. His laughter is soft puffs of breath tickling at Robb's skin and his tongue is damp and hot, dragging up in an unbroken arc. The ache in Robb's head has subsided, crowded out by other sensations, his awareness focussed where Theon takes it.

Theon's eyes are wicked when he lifts his head, wrapping a hand around Robb's cock, tilting to take it into his mouth. He's trying to shock, covering him quick and deep, and the sudden wet heat draws a whimper from Robb's throat, Theon's hum of satisfaction another. The first time Theon did this Robb had lasted seconds, spluttering apologies, furiously red in the face and gulping for breath. Theon had grinned so wide his face looked like to split, chuckling without malice or mockery, stroked Robb's hair while he came down.

He's learned control since then, but he's fragile this morning - and memories of last night keep surfacing, of that raw, dark something that Theon lets go in the dead of night and haze of drink, of the things he says, the look on his face like he doesn't know who he is anymore. Robb can't help rocking his hips, pushing in time with the slide of Theon's lips, dragging his fingers in swirling patterns across his scalp.

Theon takes his mouth off him with a gasp and then he's crawling up Robb's body, planting his hands either side of his head and bending to kiss him. Robb knows what he wants: his eyes flash open wide for a second and Robb takes him in hand, clumsy in his rush. It's shifting moments like this when Robb suddenly feels young, young and somehow vulnerable. There's a fluttering like panic in his belly, as if he's waiting for instruction or judgement - but he sees the tremble in Theon's muscles, the sweat broken on his brow, and the years between them have fallen away again like the rest of the world. He pushes his other hand into Theon's hair, runs it down his jaw, and Theon turns his head and pulls his thumb into his mouth, eyes squeezed closed.

Theon's closer than Robb had thought and he slows down, grips tighter in steady pulses like he knows Theon likes it. He's shifting beneath Theon, watching his face redden and his arms shake, desperate for his own release - then Theon's arms give out and he's heavy on top of Robb, hips bucking as he rides out the last of it, and the blurted _fuck, yes_ against his throat takes Robb over the edge.


End file.
